Page 141 of Can't Text This

“But I’m your best friend.”

“Play that butthurt bestie card later. Right now I need help.”

He sits back, pretending to slide something off his desk and tuck it away in a drawer. “Butthurt bestie card has been stowed for later. Tell me what’s up.”

I roll my eyes at his joke and sigh. “We went out Sunday night. I took her to TacoWay and—”

“She totally orgasmed from those amazing tacos, didn’t she?”

“Yes, but stop interrupting.Anyway,” I continue, “I’m pretty sure I told her I loved her, we danced, and then I’m pretty sure I told her again.”

When Zach doesn’t say anything like I expect him to, I keep going.

“Then we kinda sorta…um, fooled around in a photo booth.”

Both brows lift this time and a smile curves across his lips, but he still doesn’t say anything.

“Then I’m pretty sure she told me she lovedme, which is still kind of blowing my mind, but I digress.” I scrub a hand through my already messy hair. “We ran into her coworker when we came out of the booth, both of us looking guilty as fuck.”

Zach steeples his hands together, resting his chin on the tips of his fingers. “So? It’s not like he knows who you are.”

“Remember when I said Monty is Xavie’s teacher?” Zach nods. “Well, that means Monty works at the same school he went to last year.”

“And?”

“AndI know her coworker. Actually, in a way, you do too.”

A crinkle forms between his brows. “You’re gonna have to start elaborating.”

“Remember how I was having issues with Xavie’s teacher last year? The one who kept sending him to the principal’s office forreallystupid things?”

“Mr… Oh, shit—what was his name? Mr. Dipshit? Douchebag? Dickweed?”

“Donahue, Brandon Donahue, and that’s who we ran into Sunday night.”

Zach’s eyes light up at this revelation. “Oh fuck. He knows you. Hereallyknows you, and he absolutely hates you.”

“I know.”

“You’re fucked.”

“I know,” I say again. “And it’s not even in the fun way.”

“I mean, from what I hear happened in that photo booth, it was.”

He barely dodges the stapler I throw at him.

“Hey! That was heavy, you ass!”

“Deserved too, you dick.”

“Fair enough.” He scoots around in his chair, too lazy to even get up, and grabs the stapler, putting it back in place. “What are you going to do?”

“Well…” I draw out.

“Okay, what stupid-as-fuck thing did youalreadydo?”

“I haven’t…yet, but I’m going to. Ihaveto. I can’t see her again, not after last night, after almost getting caught—not when that douchebag knows about us.”

---